Mummies, Serial Killers & the Haunting
by Snowie2
Summary: of Carlton Lassiter. Yes, that's the whole title... and I think that describes it pretty well.
1. Prologue

Hello all,

This is a Psych/Supernatural cross. It's post 'Shawn (and Gus) of the Dead' and 'Mystery Spot'. Oh and Lassie is haunted…;)

**Mummies, Serial Killers and the Haunting of Carlton Lassiter**

Prologue

_Motel Somewhere in Nevada…_

"Yo Dean!" Sam said, throwing a pillow in his brother's general direction.

Dean groaned softly before rolling over and sitting up. "The hell Sammy!"

"Got a case."

That woke Dean up. "What? Where?"

"Santa Barbara, California. According to the website I just found, a Mummy got out of it's case, strangled the Museum's night watchman and exited the building… all without being caught on camera."

"Freaky," Dean said. "But a Mummy? Be serious Sam!"

"I am serious," Sam said. "Now, I don't know that I believe the whole mummy rising from the dead thing, but this case reeks of the supernatural."

"Oh really?"

"There's even a psychic detective heading up the case."

Dean studied him carefully for a moment. "This isn't like that Hellhounds website, is it? 'Cause one meeting with that kind of freak was enough for me."

"No. It's the blog on the psychic detective's webpage, psych. com …" Dean raised his eyebrows. "What?" Sam asked.

"The psychic detective named his detective agency… Psych?"

Sam's expression darkened slightly. "I know, I know. Either he takes himself a lot less seriously than most psychics we've met, or he's totally running a scam."

"I'm betting on the second option."

"That doesn't explain the thirty plus cases that have been attributed to him. Dean, I think he might be the real deal… And if he thinks that the mummy walked out of the museum…"

"He wrote the blog?"

"No, his partner wrote the blog…" And he wasn't about to tell Dean the screen name that the man had used. What the hell was a 'supersmeller' anyway? "I think that we need to check this out, Dean."

Dean sighed. He knew that tone and the look that accompanied it. "Get everything packed. I'll hit the shower." He ignored the satisfied smile that crossed his brother's face and dragged himself to the bathroom.

He closed the door behind him and that was when it hit him.

It was five am.

Sam had still been awake when Dean had collapsed into his bed at midnight.

He pulled open the door and peeked out, finding the room to be exactly as he'd expected it to be. One bed slept in, the other not even wrinkled.

It looked the way that every hotel room had looked since they'd left Florida three days ago.

He closed the door again and turned to the shower, turning the water on. Oh yeah, he and Sammy were due for a talk.

And this time he was going to get some answers.

**Santa Barbara**

_The next morning…_

Sammy was supposed to be the girl in their relationship, so why all of a sudden, was he the one wanting to have the heavy, feeling related conversations and Sam was the one shying away? It just wasn't natural.

Nor was it fair that his little brother was so good at sidetracking him.

"'Oh, I'll just go to the library and do some research.'" Dean muttered darkly. "'You stay here and watch their office. See, it's right on the water. Look at all the girls going by…'"

"I'm too freakin' easy," Dean mumbled, annoyed at himself… But more annoyed at Sam.

The mummy case was solved. No resurrected mummies, just a patricidal suit with bad taste.

So why were they still there, watching the office of one Shawn Spencer, psychic detective?

Because Sammy couldn't leave well enough alone.

So here he was, roasting in his car, watching beautiful, scantily clad girls walk or rollerblade by… _People still rollerbladed? _Dean shook his head. Moving on… Watching them go by instead of getting out of his car and making _his _move.

He only had a few months left. Did Sam really want him to spend his time watching a couple of psychic freaks instead of getting his freak on?

As obvious as the answer to that question was…

There was a loud pounding on the roof of the car.

"Shit!" He exclaimed, jumping slightly. He looked out the open driver's side window… straight into his brother's worried face.

How he could have missed his hulking, sweating mass of a little brother racing up to the car he'd never know.

"What the hell, Sammy?" Dean asked. Sam looked like he'd run flat out all the way from the library… a mile and a half away.

"You didn't call on schedule," Sam said, sounded slightly winded.

Dean stared at him in shock for a moment. The kid had run all the way over here because he'd missed his check in?

"Okay, Sam, for one thing, expecting me to call every fifteen minutes, _on the dot_, is ridiculous." He shifted slightly under his brother's glare, but it was the fear that drove Sam that was a knife in Dean's gut. He wanted to understand that fear. Needed to.

"For another, you didn't have to _run _over here. You could have called _me_."

Sam's glare darkened. There was no answer for that. No way to explain the blind panic that had sent him racing out of the library…

"Just don't forget again, okay?"

"Sam…" Dean started.

"Okay?" Sam said, his voice insistent and full of panic.

"Okay Sam," Dean said, his voice as soothing as he could make it. "But…"

"Thanks," Sam said, not acknowledging the fact that Dean had more to say. With one last quick look at his brother, he took off, long legs eating up the sidewalk on his way back to the library.

Dean shook his head. "When this is over, kid, we're gonna have a long talk. I don't care if I have to tie you to a chair first."

He glanced over at the Psych window and sighed.

Boring was not a strong enough word for this…


	2. Chapter One

Here's the first chapter. Hope you like it!

**Chapter One**

_Psych Office_

It started off as a normal enough day for our local psychic detective.

Well, as normal of a day as you could get when your mother arrived in town unexpectedly and started hanging out with your father.

Shawn had taken all of that in stride… which of course meant that he had hijacked Gus and was hiding out at the Psych office.

He was making Gus take turns with him, watching out the front window to insure that they had advanced warning if one of his parents were to arrive. Or, heaven forbid, both!

It wasn't until mid morning that he first noticed something amiss.

"Psst! Gus!" He whispered urgently, waving him towards the window.

"Why are you whispering!" Gus exclaimed, clearly annoyed.

"Just get over here!"

Gus sighed, but got to his feet and joined Shawn at the window. "What?"

"Does he look familiar to you?"

Gus' eyes scanned the sidewalk in front of the office. "Who? Mr. Dillingsworth?"

"No Dude! Not our sixth grade science teacher!" Shawn paused. "Though that is him." He pointed emphatically in the other direction. "Him!"

"You mean your Dad?"

"No! Not my Dad! That…" Shawn did a double take and then hit the floor. "My Dad's here! Hide!"

"Shawn, you're being ridiculous!"

Shawn grabbed Gus by the arm and pulled him to the floor with a thud. "I'm not talking to them, Gus! You can't make me!"

Shawn put a hand over Gus' mouth as a knock came to the door.

"Gus, please tell me you locked that door!" Shawn whispered frantically.

"_Shawn! I know you're in there!"_

Gus pulled Shawn's hand away from his mouth. "And why would I have done that?" Gus whispered back.

"I told you…"

"_I saw you looking out the window!"_

"This is our place of business, Shawn! We can't just lock the door! What if a client tries to come in?"

"An unlocked door won't stop my Dad!"

"He's your Dad Shawn! You should talk to him!"

"Not today!" Shawn started to do the commando crawl towards the back door.

"_I'm coming in Shawn!"_

That was enough for Shawn. He jumped to his feet and pelted out the back door at top speed.

Gus was left crouching by the window as Henry opened the door to the main office. They stared at each other silently for a moment before Henry sighed. "All right Gus. Where's he hiding?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Spencer," Gus said as he rose to his feet, trying desperately to look nonchalant.

Henry sighed again. "I don't have time for this Gus."

Gus looked panicked for a moment and then bolted out the back door. He was just clearing the far side of the dumpster when a hand reached out and grabbed him. His startled, very manly mind you, shriek was cut off as a hand covered his mouth.

"What are you doing?" Shawn exclaimed in a frantic whisper. "You were supposed to distract him!"

"I panicked Shawn! Your Dad is scary!"

"C'mon man! He's all talk. He wears Hawaiian shirts! He's just a great big bald teddy bear!"

"Why don't you talk to him then?"

"It's a choice, Gus. I'm not scared of the man, I just don't _want _to talk to him!"

"Uh huh!" Gus said, disbelievingly. "Just keep telling yourself that!"

"Shh!" Shawn exclaimed as Henry's voice reached them.

"_Shawn! Shawn! Get back here! You're going to have to face me sooner or later!"_

They remained silent until they heard the back door shut and then peeked around the corner of the dumpster. "He's gone!" Shawn whispered.

"Then why are you still whispering!" Gus whispered back.

"You're doing it too!" Shawn exclaimed.

Gus's only response was to straighten up, square his shoulders and march back into the Psych office as if his exit had not been of the dramatic sort.

Shawn rolled his eyes, but followed his friend back into the office, making sure to get the all clear before entering.

His first action was to lock all the doors. He then joined Gus at the front window.

"So who were you talking about?" Gus asked.

"Him!" Shawn said, pointing towards a parked car. "Aww! Gus! He's gone! Darn it! My dad ruins everything!"

"I don't think you can blame this on your Dad. If you'd just talk to the man!"

"I'm not having that conversation with you again!"

Gus looked over at the car. "Is that a Mustang?"

Shawn shook his head. "Clearly that is a 1967 Chevy Impala, Gus. What car are you looking at?"

"Not all of us can have your stash of useless information Shawn!" Gus looked closer, noticing the driver for the first time. "Dude! There's someone in that car!"

"Uh yeah!" Shawn said sarcastically. "He's been there all morning. I can't get a good look at him and he hasn't left the car. It was the big guy that came to talk to him that I wanted you to take a look at."

"Hold it Shawn! Some guy has been sitting outside, watching the office all day and you didn't think to mention it?"

"Of course not? Why would I?"

"You didn't think that maybe it was someone who wants to get back at you for something?"

"No. And what do you mean me? What about you?"

"I'm not the psychic detective! And why don't you think he's dangerous?"

"One: We've been in here all day, alone, and he hasn't tried to come in here after us. Two: He's driving an Impala, which is far too cool of a car for a serial killer. Three: The Ice Cream Guy went by and he bought a fudge pop! A fudge pop, Gus!"

"Wait! I thought you said he hadn't gotten out of the car!"

"He didn't," Shawn said. "He bought it through the window. He did have a ring on his right hand though."

"That's it? And why does him liking fudge pops have anything to do with whether or not he's a serial killer?"

"Ah, it's a fudge pop Gus. Fudgey, creamy goodness on a stick. No one who is evil could like them!"

"I hope that you know that makes no sense, Shawn!"

"Whatever Gus!"

"Well, what do you think he's doing here?"

Shawn shrugged. "No idea. Why don't you ask him?"

"I'm not gonna ask the potential serial killer what he's doing watching the office!"

"Gus, I already told you! He's not a serial killer."

Gus leaned close to the window, squinting his eyes. "I think he's on his cell phone."

"Ooooooh," Shawn said in a creepy voice. "A cell phone. How diabolical. You never see anyone using one of those!"

"Shut up Shawn!" Gus backed away from the window and quickly checked to make sure all the doors and windows were locked.

"Dude, I just did that!"

"Yeah, like I'm gonna trust you!"

"That hurts, Gus. That really hurts."

"I don't care," Gus said. He sat back down, pointedly ignoring Shawn as he booted up his computer.

Shawn settled down in his chair, resuming his watch duty. "I wonder where he went?"

"Who?" Gus asked.

"The guy… The other guy!"

"I don't care. Besides, he'll probably be back."

"Yeah. Right." He looked out the window at the Impala. "Dude. I think he's asleep!"

"Really?" Gus said, getting to his feet. "Go out there and get a look at him then!"

"Me? Why not you?"

Gus didn't answer, he just sat down and turned his attention back to his computer. Shawn looked at him for a minute before shrugging and returning to his watch duty.

Approximately Twenty-five Minutes Later…

He was back.

Shawn had seen him sprint up to the car and start banging frantically on the driver's side window. The driver had jolted awake, clearly banging some part of anatomy on some part of his car.

The argument that ensued was something to watch, though Shawn wasn't sure exactly what was being said.

There was something so familiar about that big guy… but Shawn, usually so good with faces, couldn't place him.

He considered calling Gus over, but frankly he was still mad at the guy… Besides, he didn't want to admit that Gus had been right.

The argument was over quickly and the big guy disappeared back the way he'd come. Shawn settled back into his chair with a sigh. Well, that made that decision.

He had just about reached the end of his patience (ten more minutes or so…) when he heard sirens fast approaching. "Dude, do you hear that?" Shawn asked.

"Sirens, "Gus said. "So?"

Shawn just looked at him for a moment as the sound got continually louder, filling the room with noise.

"Oh!" Gus exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "Sirens!"

There was a loud crash and the sound of squealing tires.

"Here comes someone!" Shawn exclaimed as a small man in leather sprinted down the sidewalk. There was a large blue form not far behind him, which suddenly took flight.

"Dude! McNabb just tackled him! That's so awesome!"

McNabb got to his feet, dragging the perp with him. Shawn and Gus watched in awe as McNabb forced the guy up against the Psych window.

"Dude, don't you think that was a little excessive?"

Shawn was about to answer when his attention was drawn to the Impala… which now appeared to be empty. "What the…" He muttered softly. He was about to point the missing driver out to Gus when he saw a slight movement in the front seat. He looked from the Impala, to McNabb, and back to the Impala. "Dude, I think he's hiding from McNabb!"

"How can he be hiding?" Gus said. "He's right there!" He pointed to the man still smushed against the psych window.

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Not him. Mr. Impala."

Gus was quiet for a moment as a smug look came across his face. "I told you he was a serial killer."

"What makes you say that?" Shawn asked.

"He's hiding from the police!"

"I said he was hiding from McNabb, not the police!"

"McNabb is the police!"

Shawn sighed again, he didn't have an answer for that…

The police worked quickly, several more officers arriving at full tilt. They assisted McNabb in dragging the perp away to a waiting car.

Shawn caught McNabb's eye as he started to leave and waved excitedly at him. Buzz grinned, but managed to just nod his head instead of waving back exuberantly.

"Dude! I'm so getting his autograph tomorrow!" Shawn exclaimed.

Gus looked over at him out of the corner of his eyes. "Me first."

"Gus!" Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the big guy once again sprinting up to the driver's side door of the Impala.

"There he is again!" Shawn watched as another fight broke out between the two. He ignored the first two nudges that Gus applied to his ribs, but finally exclaimed. "What!?"

"That's Sam Winchester!" Gus exclaimed. "And the dude getting out of the car right now? That's his brother Dean!"

"Winchester…" Shawn said slowly.

"As in America's Most Wanted, Shawn!"

"Ooh! Ooh! They _are_ serial killers!"

"I told you!" Gus said. "You never listen."

They both paused as the brothers looked over at their window, Dean pointing emphatically in their direction. Shawn suddenly had an idea of what they were fighting about.

"He's coming over here," Shawn exclaimed, both he and Gus instantly hitting the floor.

"Which one?"

"Sam."

"Just Sam?"

"We can hope."

"What?"

"Never mind! Head for the back door!" They started scurrying frantically across the floor, freezing as the doorknob rattled.

"Do you think he'll give up?" Gus whispered frantically.

The sound of something sliding into the lock reached them and Shawn shook his head. "Nope." He gave Gus a shove and once again they were hurrying towards the back door. A short burst of shoving broke out as they tried frantically to unlock the door. They both froze again as the door swung open. Gus dove behind the fern in the corner, Shawn behind the desk, hastily moving a pineapple in front of his face.

They heard footsteps as Sam entered the room. He came to a stop just inside the door. "Yeah." His voice filled the room, not unpleasant in the least. "That's inconspicuous."

Shawn slowly moved the pineapple to the side. "Oh hi!" He said pleasantly, trying to hide the quiver in his voice. "Can I help you?"

Sam looked from Shawn to Gus and back again. "Uh… why are you hiding?" He paused, getting a very bad feeling about this. "Who do you think I am?"

"Well, we certainly don't think you're Sam Winchester, serial killer," Shawn said with a fake laugh. "Because that would be ridiculous."

Gus echoed the laugh. "Of course," he said. "And that certainly isn't your brother Dean waiting by the car to come in here and mutilate us…"

Sam stared at them for a moment. "Okay…" He said, pulling out his cell phone. He hit a few buttons. "Dean. We got trouble." He ended the call before Dean had a chance to answer.

It was seconds later that they heard the sound of pounding feet and Dean appeared in the doorway. He took everything in. Guy behind fern, other guy kneeling behind desk with pineapple in front of face. He glared over at Sam. "Dude! What did you do? Is this what you call talking!?"

"Do! I didn't _do_ anything!"

"Yeah right! I thought you had to be smart to get into Stanford!"

"You went to Stanford? That's a really good school!"

They looked over at Gus, who was peeking out from behind the fern. As soon as he felt their eyes on him, he ducked back.

Dean shook his head and looked back at Sam. "Really! What did you do?"

"Nothing!" Sam exclaimed. "Well, I picked the lock…" He paused. "According to them it has nothing to do with the fact that they don't think that I'm Sam Winchester serial killer and that you're not my brother Dean who wants to mutilate them."

"What does that even mean?" Dean asked.

"It means they know who we are!" Sam exclaimed.

"Well why didn't you just say that!"

"I did!"

"Never mind!"

"Please!" The small, desperate voice came from behind the fern. "Please don't kill us! We're too young and pretty to die!"

Dean raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Sam who just shrugged.

"I ain't gonna kill you," Dean said slowly. "Contrary to popular belief, that's not what we do. I'm also not going to have this conversation with a houseplant and a pineapple."

Shawn and Gus exchanged a look before hopping to their feet, Gus joining Shawn next to the desk.

"So, if you're not planning to kill us… which I'd like to say we're behind 100%."

"Oh yeah!" Gus said. "That's a great plan right there!"

"What can we do for you gentlemen?"

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. "Why don't you tell us, Mr. Psychic Detective?" Dean said sarcastically, Sam rolling his eyes at Dean's tone.

Shawn placed his right hand to his temple, his left hand on top of Gus' head, and studied the brothers carefully.

Dean leaned close to Sam. "What the hell?" Sam shrugged again. This really wasn't going the way that he'd expected.

And then the shaking started and the brothers backed up a step. "Dude! Is he having a fit?"

"I don't know," Sam said.

"He's contacting the spirit world for information," Gus said.

"Uh huh," Dean murmured. "And he has to touch your head for this, why?"

"I keep him grounded."

"Okay," Dean said. "Well, this is a load of crap."

"No," Sam said. "This is stupid."

"You're the one that wanted to stick around!"

"Don't put this on me! He has an impressive record!"

Shawn chose that moment to interrupt them. "I sense that you arrived in town just recently… Looking for something… or someone."

"If I wanted to talk to Miss Cleo, I'd call her hotline," Dean said.

Shawn frowned.

"Tough crowd," Gus muttered.

"Hey!" Sam said. "When you've met a real psychic, it's easy to spot the fakes."

Shawn focused in on him and was shocked to see that there were no tells. At the very least, Sam Winchester believed in psychics… and had met a better faker than Shawn.

"Okay, you want something… bigger?"

Dean snorted doubtfully and Shawn narrowed his eyes in greater focus, once again placing his right hand to his temple.

"You carry a gun at the small of your back and another one holstered to your right ankle. Sammy over there is only carrying one at the small of his back. You also have a knife holstered to your left ankle, right forearm and…" He closed his eyes. "And one attached to your belt. Sam is carrying one holstered to his right forearm…"

"Well, you're observant. I'll give you that."

As Shawn was listing off the multitude of weapons, Gus was slowly creeping towards the back door.

"So, more?" Shawn said. "Let's see… You don't really have anyone but each other and even though you're driving each other crazy right now…" He looked at Sam. "Dean's not going to disappear if you leave him alone for an hour or so. There's no need to make him call you every fifteen minutes." He looked over at Dean. "And something happened recently that really freaked Sam out, so cut him a little slack. He's just worried about you… and he has good reason."

"That," Sam said. "Was actually a little creepy."

"Really?" Dean said. "You know what that tells _me_, Sammy? It tells me you and I are due for a little talk."

"Dean, we already talked about this. There's nothing going on."

"No way, Sam. If that was creepy than we definitely have something to discuss."

Shawn opened his mouth to speak but Sam held up a hand. "I think that's good."

"I could hear a little more," Dean said. "What do the 'spirits' say happened that has him so freaked out?"

"The spirits are unclear on this," Shawn said. "It's all so very confusing… But I sense death and despair."

Dean glanced at Sam and noticed that his brother had paled at Shawn's words. "Oh yeah, Sammy. There's nothing to talk about at all."

Sam glanced at Dean, his expression full of dread and pain. "I can't Dean. Not yet."

"Sorry to interrupt this touching moment and all," Gus said. "But we still haven't determined what you're doing here."

Sam sighed. "We came to town to investigate the Mummy thing. We stuck around after we found out the case had been solved by a psychic."

"We're paranormal debunkers," Dean added helpfully.

Shawn narrowed his eyes. They were good at lying, that was for sure… But _he_ was Shawn Spencer. "No, you're not. You believe in the paranormal…" He pointed at them, his voice becoming very excited. "You believe in ghosts!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dude, you're a 'psychic'! The 'spirits' speak to you."

"Got you there Shawn," Gus said.

"But ghosts?" Shawn asked. "I mean see through, floating, woooooo, ghosts?"

"Obviously you've never seen one," Dean said.

"You have?" Shawn asked.

Sam and Dean glanced at each other again. "Nope," they said, voices blending.

And again, they were lying.

"I don't believe you," Shawn said. "I believed you when you said you came to town investigating the mummy thing. I believed you when you said you weren't here to kill us. I even believed you when you said you weren't serial killers. But I don't believe that you _don't _believe in ghosts."

Sam and Dean looked at each other in surprise. They'd never had anyone take their word on the whole serial killer thing…

"Wait a minute!" Gus exclaimed. "Since when do we believe that they're not serial killers?"

"Uh," Shawn said. "Well, they clearly weren't lying when they said that they weren't."

"That's it?" Gus said. "What about America's Most Wanted?"

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Well, there were several inconsistencies in the story. I just figured that they were dramatizing it for effect, but now I'm thinking that the whole investigation was faulty."

"I like this guy," Dean said. "Do you think that it would help if we introduced him to Henrickson?"

Sam snorted. "Henrickson? Are you kidding? You think Henrickson would believe a psychic?"

"Not a chance," Dean said with a sigh.

"Who's Henrickson?" Gus asked.

"Special Agent in charge of their case," Shawn answered. "Did you even watch their America's Most Wanted episode?"

Gus looked a little sheepish. "Well, there were some pretty graphic pictures…"

Shawn snorted and Gus glared at him. "You know how I feel about blood Shawn!"

"Dude! The number of dead bodies we've seen lately you'd think that you'd be getting used to the whole blood thing!"

"Not funny, Shawn!"

Whatever he was about to say next was cut off as Shawn's cell phone began to ring. He checked the screen for who was calling before answering. "Jules!" He exclaimed happily. His expression sobered. "Neither one of my parents is standing next to you, right?"

There was a brief pause. "Oh, good." He paused again. "Gus and I are just at the office with some clients... Well, they certainly aren't serial killers, because that would be ridiculous… No Jules, they really _aren't_ serial killers. I mean _accused_ yes, _actual_ no… Of course I'm joking. You know me, always kidding. Did you need some help with something?... Someone what?... Is Lassie okay?... Uh huh… Uh huh… Locked from the inside?... Alarm on?... We'll be there in 15… We're on our way, Jules."

"Is Detective Lassiter hurt?" Gus asked.

"Don't care," Dean said. "What I want to know is if psychic boy there actually just told a fricken' police officer that he's talking to a couple of serial killers."

"Okay, one: Jules is a _Homicide Detective_. Two: I said I was kidding. Three: She probably wouldn't have believed me anyway."

"Wait, let me get this straight. One of your detective friends was attacked in his house?" Shawn nodded, not seeing the need to correct him on the whole 'friend' aspect. "And all the doors and windows were locked from the inside?" Shawn nodded. "And the alarm was on?"

"It didn't go off until some uniforms knocked the door down this morning," Shawn said.

Sam looked over at Dean meaningfully. "No way Sam!" Dean exclaimed.

Sam shrugged. "It sounds… suspicious."

"Homicide detectives, Sam!"

"Can you really ignore this?"

Dean sighed. "No." His voice took on a slightly whiny tone. "But Sammy… Homicide Detective… The place'll be swarming with cops… I hate swarms of cops!"

Shawn and Gus exchanged a look and both coughed to cover their snorts of laughter.

Dean ignored them. "We'll go with you," he said, his tone resigned.

"What?" Shawn asked.

"To the scene," Sam said. "Dean and I'll go with you."

"Why?" Shawn asked, looking at them suspiciously. "You're not really paranormal debunkers, are you? What do you really do?"

"We are debunkers… in a way," Sam said.

"Yeah," Dean added. "We debunk what we can… and kill what we can't."

"What does that mean?" Gus asked.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. "We're hunters of the paranormal," Sam said. "If it's not a real paranormal event, we move on. If it is, we hunt down whatever's doing the damage and take care of it…"

"When you said take care of…?"

Dean shrugged. "We mean kill or… dispose of."

"So you are killers," Gus said, nodding his head.

"Well, if you can kill a _ghost_, then yes."

"So you have seen ghosts!" Shawn exclaimed.

"You don't believe in ghosts, Shawn!"

"Says the guy who ran screaming from 'Scary Sherry'?"

"I didn't say that _I_ don't believe in ghosts!"

"Then what's your point?" Gus opened his mouth to reply, but Shawn held up a hand. "Never mind." He turned to Sam and Dean. "Of course you can come with us. Just try to remain… inconspicuous."

Sam raised his eyebrows and Dean snorted. "Dude, I wouldn't have thought that you knew that word _existed_, let alone it's meaning."

"Ha!" Gus exclaimed, stalking towards the front door. Shawn shrugged and followed him out onto the street, Sam and Dean close behind.

That is, until they saw where they were headed.

Towards an impossibly tiny, bright blue Toyota.

"Dude, no way!" Dean exclaimed.

"What?" Shawn asked, looking over at the brothers.

"Tell me that's not your car!"

"It's a company car!" Gus exclaimed defensively.

"You work for the Smurfs?"

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, slapping him on the shoulder.

"What?" Dean asked. "_That _is not a real car. _That _is a clown car."

"Dude, be nice," Sam said, giving Gus an apologetic look.

"I'm not riding in that car…" Dean said decisively. "And Sam, you won't _fit_ in that car." Sam shrugged, acknowledging that statement as fact.

"Ooh. Ooh. We get to ride in the Impala!" Shawn exclaimed. Arms at his side, Shawn began jumping up and down, flailing slightly in his excitement.

Dean groaned. This was getting worse with each passing second. "Back seat! Silence! And don't touch anything!"


	3. Chapter Two

Hello all!

Yes, I know it's been forever, but finally it's done. Chapter Two!

I do want to take a second to mention the fact that this story is definitely not meant to be taken overly seriously. And yes, sometimes Shawn will know things that he has absolutely no way of knowing… but it's just for laughs, so please just go with it... ;)

Anyway, thanks for reading!

Snowie:)

Chapter Two:

Detective Carlton Lassiter's House

"Jules!" Shawn exclaimed, hurrying across the lawn towards the blond detective. Gus, Dean and Sam followed at a more sedate pace, Dean keeping a careful watch on the surrounding 'swarms' of cops.

"Shawn," Juliet said, stepping away from the uniformed officer that she'd been speaking to. "Thank you for coming."

"How's Lassie doing," Shawn asked, his expression and tone at their most earnest.

"He's in serious but stable condition," Juliet said, her expression grim. "There's no sign of forced entry Shawn. No sign that there was _anyone _there except for Carlton. The alarm was still on. All the doors and windows were locked and _bolted _from inside. I need you to tell me how this happened Shawn. We need to figure out who did this…"

"We will, Jules. I promise."

"Nice digs," Dean said, nodding towards the house. "How can we help?"

"And you are?" Juliet asked, warily.

"Oh, sorry Jules!" Shawn exclaimed. "These are some friends of mine. We're all part of the same psychic support group. May I introduce you to… Belt Knife Lemondrop," he indicated Dean. "And Doughboy Verlander," pointing to Sam.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

Juliet looked from one man to the other, a doubtful look crossing her face. "Are those their real names, Shawn?" She asked.

"Of course not," Shawn said. "Those are their psychic names. Mine happens to be Little Boy Blue Snuffaluffagus Pete." He paused. "Snuff for short."

"I'm gonna snuff something," Dean muttered, low enough so only Sam could hear him.

"Not in public," Sam whispered back.

"You always say that!" Dean exclaimed.

"I always _mean _it!"

Juliet sighed. Leave it to Shawn…

She had a bad feeling about this, but she couldn't help but ask, "Just out of curiosity, Shawn…"

Shawn held up a hand. "Snuff, please, Jules." He leaned closer to her. "I don't want my buddies to be uncomfortable."

Juliet nodded, always willing to play along. "Sure Shaw… I mean, Snuff. Which brings me back to my question. How do you get your psychic names?"

Shawn grinned. "That is an interesting story… But perhaps it would be better to show you." He took a casual step towards Sam, a strange gleam in his eyes. He reached out a hand, his pointer finger extended…

Only to find his hand caught in a viselike grip, far from it's target.

"Don't," Sam said simply.

Shawn studied him for a moment… and to everyone's surprise quickly gave in.

Dean smirked, snaking a hand around from his position at Sam's side and poked Sam in the stomach. The sound Sam made was reminiscent of the one that the Pillsbury Doughboy makes. Dean gave himself an instant to wonder how Shawn had discovered this carefully guarded secret about his brother… And then started to quickly move away from the heat of his brother's glare.

"Dean, I'm gonna…"

"Not in public, Sammy!" Dean exclaimed.

"And it's not just the stomach," Shawn said to Jules, his voice carrying.

Sam stood completely still, unable to decide which one to go after first. In the end, he put his annoyance aside. There would be time for revenge later.

"Can we see the scene?" He asked, completely serious.

"Um…" Juliet started uncertainly.

"They will be very helpful," Shawn said. "I have foreseen that their presence will be invaluable to this investigation. Trust me, Jules."

"Well…" She paused. "Just let me call Chief Vick."

"Very well," Shawn said. "But I can tell you that she'll say yes."

"You 'saw' that?" Jules asked as she pulled out her cell and hit speed-dial.

"No," Shawn said. "I called her from the car."

"Oh," Jules said. "I… Hello Chief Vick. I'm standing here with Shawn, Gus and two of his… psychic friends. I just wanted to confirm…" She paused. "Yes. Thank you Chief. We'll keep you updated." She turned to Shawn. "All right. Follow me."

"Gladly," Shawn said. He motioned to the others and they followed Juliet into Lassiter's house.

The interior of the house was a sobering sight. Ransacked seemed like too tame of a word for it. Furniture was overturned. Pictures torn off the walls. Lamps and light fixtures broken… some looking as if they had exploded, rather than simply breaking.

And there was blood everywhere.

Smeared along the walls. Soaked into the carpet… even splattered on the ceiling.

"Is that blood?" Gus gulped, taking a step back from the red splotches that stood out against the pristine white of the carpeting.

"Is that _eggshell_?" Shawn asked, more distracted by the prissy color scheme than he was by the blood. "Lassie lives _here_? My _grandmother _thinks this decorating job is boring."

"I think it's very tastefully done," Gus said with a sniff. "Not all of us decorate in early yard sale, Shawn."

"Why not?" Shawn asked, even as his eyes scanned the room. "I like to consider my place junk chic. Very now…" His eyes caught the end of Lassiter's gun sticking out from under the overturned couch. Casings littered the floor. It looked like he had emptied an entire clip at…something. Something he'd missed every time.

Because there was a bullet hole in a wall for every casing on the floor.

Knowing Lassiter as he did, such a thing seemed impossible. The man rarely missed. And to miss that many times…

He shook his head slightly and continued his perusal of the room.

The blood was distressing, the amount and the area over which it was spread spoke of the violence of the attack.

The body sized dents in the wall spoke of the strength of the attacker.

It was like nothing Shawn had seen before.

All of that was without mentioning the large amount of dark grey grossness that was everywhere in the room. Dark grey grossness that had _not _escaped the notice of his two most recent acquaintances. He saw them exchange a meaningful glance, but they remained silent.

Shawn wanted to know what _they _thought it was, but he had a feeling that Juliet's presence was keeping them from sharing.

He also knew that it would take more convincing than he had time for to get Dean to trust a cop. _Especially _a detective.

"Jules?"

"Yeah Shawn?" Juliet asked.

"Would you mind giving us a few minutes alone with the scene?" He leaned close to her, whispering the next part. "I think your delightful presence is proving too distracting for my friends."

"Oh!" Juliet exclaimed, blushing slightly. "Sure Shawn. I'll be right outside the front door."

Everyone remained silent until she was gone and then Dean turned to Sam. "Ectoplasm?"

"Oh yeah," Sam said. "More than I've ever seen. I thought that ghost in Philadelphia produced a lot, but this is…" He trailed off.

"More?" Gus supplied helpfully.

"Uh, yeah," Sam said. He looked over at Shawn, raising his eyebrows.

Shawn just shrugged. Gus was Gus.

"So what exactly is ectoplasm?" Shawn asked.

"A mystical substance produced by poltergeists," Gus answered. "Usually the more angry the spirit, the more it produces."

There was silence as the other three men turned and looked at him. He withstood the scrutiny for a few moments, but finally relented. "What?" He asked. "I did some research on ghosts when we were kids… You know, when I thought Wilting Flower was haunting me." He glared at Shawn.

"Okay," Dean said, dragging out the word a little. There was a story there, but he wasn't about to ask what it was.

"So now that we know what we're dealing with," Sam said. "We just have to figure out who it used to be."

"Yeah," Dean said. "And why it's so damn pissed off at your detective friend."

"Maybe it met him?" Shawn asked innocently.

"Shawn!" Gus exclaimed indignantly.

"What?" Shawn asked defensively. "It's not like he's the warm and cuddly type. Lassie just kind of grows on you, ya know? Like… fungus. He's an acquired taste… like stinky tofu… I really don't get the whole stinky tofu thing, do you? I mean, the name alone…"

"Shawn!" Gus exclaimed again. "Can you be serious for one minute? Lassiter needs our help."

"You want me to be serious?" Shawn exclaimed, beginning to gesture emphatically. "We're standing in a room where some seriously bad stuff went down. The light bulbs _exploded _on their own. Lassiter, one of the best shots I know, _emptied _his clip at whatever nasty thing was in this room… and _missed _every time. And everything that's not covered in blood is covered in _ectoplasm. _Not to mention the fact that we'retalking about ghosts like they _actually freaking exist_. And you want me to be serious? I'm _serious_ly freaking out!"

Dean looked over at Sam, raising his eyebrows slightly and a sulky look crossed Sam's face. "Shut up," he muttered.

"I didn't say anything," Dean said. "And I'm not the one who actually believed this guy was a psychic."

Shawn threw his hands up in the air. "So I'm not a damn psychic. And least I'm not a muscle-bound maniac in search of a straightjacket!"

"Dude! I've only been in a straightjacket once! Once!"

Interest flared in Shawn's eyes. "Really? Tell me, was it a voluntary thing, or were you committed for being _freaking nuts_!"

A self satisfied and somewhat giddy look crossed over Dean's face. "Actually, it was a few years ago when we were passing through Vegas. There was this chick…"

"Enough!" Sam exclaimed, interrupting. "I think we're getting a little off topic… This is not the time or place for this conversation."

Dean's natural paranoia returned in an instant and he looked around quickly, making sure none of the swarming cops had snuck up on them.

"What now?" Gus asked.

Sam shrugged. "We see if anything in this house gives us a clue about who's haunting the detective… and why."

"And again with this whole ghosts existing thing…" Shawn muttered.

"Shut up Shawn!" Gus exclaimed. "I don't care if you believe them or not. _I _do. And do you have a better explanation for what happened in here?"

"No," Shawn whined sulkily. "But _ghosts _Gus?"

"We'll argue this point later," Sam said. "Search now, ghost talk later."

Shawn sighed slightly, but conceded the point. He looked around the room, taking in the scene again.

Broken coffee table.

Exploded light bulbs.

Glass covering the floor.

Blood there… and there… and there…

Overturned lamp.

Busted television.

Overturned couch.

Weird pouch on bottom of couch.

Equally weird and ten times creepier talisman peeking out from under loveseat.

He reached out and tapped Sam on the arm with the back of his hand.

"What?" Sam asked.

Shawn remained silent but pointed first at the bag and then at the talisman. Sam looked and then cursed.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Hex bag," Sam said softly. "And a talisman."

Dean swore under his breath. "You're freaking kidding me!"

"'Fraid not."

"Son of a bitch! I _really **hate **_witches!"

"Witches!" Gus exclaimed, his voice hitting a high note.

"Yeah, what's with this witch thing," Shawn asked. "I thought we were dealing with a ghost?"

"Hex bag and talisman equal witch," Sam said.

Dean nodded. "Meaning one of those wacked out bitches conjured herself up a ghost to put the smack down on your friend Lassiter. And again we're back to why."

Gus cleared his throat. "Just out of curiosity, how do you handle ghosts and witches?"

"Well, ghosts are generally a simple salt and burn. Witches are… more complicated."

"Complicated?" Gus asked.

"Well, ghost are… dead," Dean said with a shrug. "And most other things we hunt… well, they aren't human."

"And witches are," Shawn supplied faintly. He didn't like where this was going. "Just so we know, when you've dealt with witches in the past… well, are they _alive _when you're done with them?"

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. "Not usually," Sam replied honestly.

"But, they're people," Gus exclaimed.

"People who sold their souls to a demon for power," Dean explained. "They use magic to hurt or kill other people… and their journey only has one possible destination… the pit. So it's not like they're alive, alive. I mean it wouldn't be like killing _you_."

Gus took a quick step backwards, trying to slip behind Shawn just as Shawn tried to do the same to him.

"Damn it! For the last time we're not going to kill you. Get a grip!"

"Then stop mentioning it!" Gus practically squealed.

"All right!"

There was a moment of silence and then Shawn spoke. "So, you want me to go out there and tell Jules that a witch put a hex on Lassiter causing a ghost to attack him, which explains the locked doors and the alarm and yadda, yadda, yadda…?"

"Hell no!" Dean exclaimed. "I want you to go out there and lie your little Snuffaluffagus ass off. I don't care what you tell her, just steer clear of the words ghost, witch, hex bag and talisman. This job would be a hell of a lot harder from the loony bin, or worse yet, the joint."

"But…" Shawn started.

"No buts," Sam said. "She's a cop… No, more than that, she's a detective. Do you really think that she's going to believe that Lassiter has been hexed? Let alone that he's haunted?"

"No," Shawn sighed.

"So what's the problem?" Dean asked. "It's not like you have a problem lying to her, 'cause obviously she thinks that you're psychic… which you _so_ aren't. Not to mention the fact that I've only known you for about an hour and I've already decided that you're pretty much physically unable to tell the truth, which personally, I think is a great trait… however I've found that most women don't agree with that sentiment. But we're off topic. What are you going to tell your lady detective?"

Shawn looked as Gus, who shrugged. "I don't know Shawn, but whatever it ends up being, it can't be more unbelievable than the time you told everyone that a murder victim was killed by a T-Rex… and you were right that time. She'd probably even believe the truth, coming from you…"

"The truth," Shawn scoffed. "I'm not even sure if _I_ believe what you guys have decided is 'the truth'."

"Shawn…" Gus started.

"Never mind," Shawn sighed. "I'll think of something." He wandered out of the room and headed towards the front door, muttering as he went. "Ghosts! Witches! What the hell did Lassie get himself into? And what the hell did Gus get _me _into?"

The front door opened and his voice faded out as it closed behind him.

"_I_ got him into this?" Gus sputtered. "How the heck did _I_ get _him _into this? He's the one who's always getting us into trouble. Him, not me." He was silent for a moment and then suddenly seemed to realize that he had been left alone with a pair of wanted serial killers. "Shawn?" He hurried after his friend, throwing a terrified look over his shoulder at the brothers. "Hey Shawn! Wait up!"

Dean growled softly under his breath and glared darkly at Sam.

"I know," Sam said with a sigh. "This is going to be a very long case."

"Your fault," Dean muttered. "If I'd had my way we'd be gambling in Vegas right now. But no, you had to come check out the Mummy thing."

Sam just shrugged. When the choice was between a fake psychic and keeping Dean under control in Las Vegas? He'd take the fake psychic any day.


End file.
